A/N: Shout-out to Xabiar for helping to write the section with Txon. It was an important section, but I was having trouble figuring out what to put in it. It was so important, in fact, that I deleted half of it before publishing. Why? Stop asking questions.
12,021 H.E. appears to be a bumper crop year for the Slothverse. Two from me and two from Xabiar. This chapter marks the fourth upload this month. FOURTH! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!
Ahem, enjoy.
Shadow of the Phoenix
Best Laid Plans
Tlon Fett stared at the holoimage of his son, Vriol, recently killed in a failed ambush against Javen'Panlie. If he were honest with himself – and he always tried to be – the boy's end meant little beyond the hated shame of seeing Panlie best him. Vriol was a disappointment, much like his brothers – fit only to spread the pure blood of the Mando'ade and die for the cause. He felt a bubble of amusement at the fact that only his adopted children filled him with any sense of pride – all the more ironic for the fact that Thisma was a miraluka.
It wasn't mourning that left him melancholic, but the miscalculation of the ambush. His son failed. The double-agents aboard Mandalore's Honor failed.
He had failed.
It was a small blemish on a grand canvas but it still rankled. Wasted time and wasted resources. Worse, he felt it weighing him down with indecision. He was questioning things now, and he hated it.
The door to his quarters hissed open without so much as a knock. He glanced back at the only person aboard who would dare invade his space without seeking permission first.
"The others have gathered in the comm room, Mand'alor," announced Kensin Ullo, the bulky twi'lek's purple lekku tightening around his own neck like a muscled noose.
Fett smiled. His XO was the only one he trusted enough to see his doubt. "I'll be there in a minute, Kensin. This debacle with Vriol has left me flustered."
"It hardly matters in the grand scheme, Tlon." The twi'lek shrugged. "You got to see the Concord Dawn-class in action and now you can plan around that."
"True. Ultimately, this blood feud will not be decided in space. I will cross blades with that wannabe-Jetii and settle this once and for all."
"I look forward to it. A clash of great men to chart the future of the Mando'ade."
"Aaray at te hokan'yc." Tlon nodded. "Alright, enough wallowing. Let us attend to our business, old friend."
"As you will, Mand'alor."
Tlon rose from his seat to follow Kensin when a chime sounded from the console. Activating it, he found a decrypted plaintext message from one of his agents in the Mandalorian Union. As he pored over the Mando'a, his fair mood soured again.
Mandalore, I bring word from the False Mandalore's operations on Dxun. The Alliance President is here alongside the King of Onderon for negotiations. The Tomb of Freedon Nadd is nearly empty of the relics stored within. We shall be leaving within the week.
I fear I must also inform you that your son Vegao was captured in the city of Iziz and brought here for interrogation. Before he was put to the question, however, he was murdered by another prisoner, a Sith who escaped with the help of the Jedi.
This event has significantly soured relations between the False Mandalore and the Jedi Grand Master. All observer Jedi have been evicted. I will report further once more is known.
-Shallot
His irritation evaporated. Yes, another useless mouth was dead, but the Jedi helping a Sith… That was very interesting. As was the broken diplomacy. He wondered if Vathila had pulled some strings in this. It would be in keeping with her psychology to try and drive a wedge between Panlie and the Jedi – especially now that he had taken one as a lifemate. Perhaps there was a way to leverage this through Senator Kavalian. With the Union on bad terms with the Jedi Order, perhaps he could style himself as an alternative. Not to directly support, of course – it would never fly with Masters Shartan or Mateil or the rest of the high-minded Jedi moralists.
But as a… party with a common enemy, stranger alliances had been made. The enemy of an enemy. There were plenty in the Jedi who would look past certain aspects they would find distasteful to strike against the Union – chief among them, Undien, given his connections to Kavalian. Assuming the Jedi would come through, of course. Best not to make assumptions until certain assurances were made.
The message included a picture of the Sith in question. He was young and bruised, but there was defiance in his eyes. Something about that look was… familiar.
"Kensin," said Tlon after a moment of silence, "My headache remains but it offers new clarity. I think it's time we accelerated our plans."
The twi'lek didn't miss a beat. "I'll speak with Voltron about the logistics. No matter what comes, Tlon, Clan Ullo stands with their brothers. Ibic'te'aka."
"Ibic'te'aka," repeated Tlon as he followed his friend.
They made their way to the communications room and found all his top lieutenants in attendance – in-person and by holo. They were planning a raid. It was small, nothing more than a single compound on a forgotten world in the Outer Rim – but every bit helped.
"The Cartels have a small outpost to act as a narcotics depot for the markets in the Techno Union. Nothing more than a watering hole really, but an easy target," explained Adomick Vizsla.
Tlon eyed his longtime lieutenant. Adomick Vizsla, who had joined his dishonored clan to Tlon's cause immediately after Mandalore Kal'Panlie was murdered, acted as his chief strategist. "What are their defenses?"
"Merc companies and automated sentries. No anti-air or ground-to-space as far as we can tell. It's a backwater with nothing to recommend it beyond the spotchka the locals brew. They chose it because nobody cares about the place. Good cover for Cartel operations."
"And the natives?"
Lara Senar'tal, head of slaving operations, spoke up, "There are farming settlements sprinkled around the marshlands. They're primitive, at least tech-wise. There's a small human village near the depot. Chances are the Cartels are in contact with them, but I doubt that would change anything in terms of resistance."
"Make sure our men know to be wary, even if the threat is minimal. The Cartels should not be underestimated."
"As you will, Mand'alor. There's a cantina ten kilometers from the depot. It caters to bounty hunters and mercs mostly, selling the local brew. We already have agents planetside performing reconnaissance and using the cantina as a gathering point."
"Good." Tlon glanced to Lara. "I don't suppose we got these extra tips from the Consortium?"
The corners of her lips turned up. "You know they pay for anything that hurts the Cartels. Not that they've made any commitments – but I wouldn't be surprised if they gave us a little extra for our work once we complete the raid."
Not surprising. The Consortium was rich enough to throw around credits like candy. If they wanted to support them, all the better. The Consortium was useful in that regard. Tlon nodded and glanced at the preliminary schedule for the raid: six days. It was a small thing, this operation. Meaningless even. And yet, he felt a thrum of excitement in his blood. Power was meant to be exercised, not bottled. Let the galaxy know and fear the name Tlon Fett.
Blue on red.
Yellow on green.
Gray swirled into magenta bespat with taupe.
Hands of aqua – carefully hidden beneath a rainbow of color – swirled along the duracrete canvas as the holorecorder hovered behind. The hands came to a stop as their owner took a step back.
"Hmm…" Xabiar hummed as he inspected his work, tapping a wet, multicolored finger to his lips as he looked into the camera, "What do you think, folks? Maybe a pale orange to liven this up?"
He grabbed the jeweled dagger he'd stolen from the Hapan Queenmother twenty years ago and sauntered off-camera. The livestream was suddenly filled with panicked screams and the sound of wet lumps hitting the floor.
He returned to frame. His naked body now splashed with orange as he added highlights here and there to the abstract collage. He smiled with perfect white teeth and bright ruby eyes. "Ovissian orange really is the best. Speaking of the best, let's talk about something. Something they don't want you to know. No, no, not that Senator Ori'ras has literal petabytes of underage pornography of every race and gender in the known and unknown galaxy, or that the sitting Deputy Director of Intelligence's wife is custom-ordered from the Consortium. No, something they don't know I know. Ever heard of 'SMARL'? Of course not! …I mean, unless you've been to Ichtor 8, I suppose, but that's not what I'm talking about here!"
A few swirls here and there as he continued his musings. "Operation SMARL is an Alliance false flag that Dear Leader Kenirr approved. Remember all those Mando raids over the past couple weeks? The ones conveniently following Mandalore's attempts at de-escalation? The ones that clearly show Mando bodies in armor that no one – not even the President – is allowed to examine outside the AIS? Doesn't that seem just a little too convenient?"
Xabiar used part of his anatomy to sign the piece with an odd glyph near the bottom of the painting under the happy little swirls before turning toward the cameras – his freshly painted erection bobbing angrily in the air as he explained in sensuous detail how the AIS thawed out dead Mandos to plant onsite, giving the appearance of a recent attack. Interspersed throughout his diatribe were the names of AIS informants and undercover agents operating in the Cartel vassal-states to the galactic east – ensuring the collapse of any AIS operations and consigning dozens to torture and execution.
You're welcome for that, Tyrell.
His shame throbbed when he saw the alerts on his computer warning him of multiple DDOS attacks feeding his famished AI honeypot.
"Even now, dear viewer, the AIS is attacking me. ME! Poor little ol' Xabiar, just a plucky news reporter bringing you the facts. What's wrong with facts? What happened to freedom of the press? I'm pretty sure that was a right, right?"
Well, it probably wasn't the AIS specifically – they were simply a vessel for something a bit more influential.
"Maybe I'm mistaken. I've lived a loooooong life and it seems every passing year sees more and more rights eroded away. Pretty soon they'll come after starving artists because they disagree with the medium," he lamented, gesturing to the still-wet abstraction, "It's up to you to fight them, folks. Is there anyone out there amongst the plebs who truly – unequivocally – supports war with the Mandos? Maybe. But remember, these jokers on Coruscant barely survived the Kamino Uprising. I have it on good authority – no, I'm not naming sources, stop asking! – that the Mandos are hiding something. Something insane. Something that could tip the balance and bring the Alliance to its knees! And they know that no one knows… which means they don't know I know what they know! Y'know?!"
A chime from the nearby holocommunicator brought him out of his ramblings. He grabbed it and read the ID – lovingly written in Rakatan cipher – letting out a slow chuckle. "So, the ol' gal wants to chat. Delightful." He turned back to the holorecorder. "I'm afraid duty calls, gentle citizens. Once again, be sure to like and subscribe. This has been your host Xabiar, reporting live from the sunny corporate boardroom of RePlanetHab Inc., signing off. OSLAM 459! MtAGA!"
The signal cut out.
Txon Oro tried to ignore the tingling feeling all over his body as his atoms zipped through the slipstream of hyperspace. Better to ignore what the ancient teleporter did to his flesh, the mechanics involved were… disquieting. Now was not the time for an existential crisis.
The network of ancient teleporters remained active – though much reduced. Nar Shaddaa once belonged to the rakata, and hidden on its surface was one such device. After excusing himself from the group, he'd approached it in the belly of the moon's undercity – only to find the device under siege by criminals who sought to steal the technology. It was a trifling matter to allow Myuomi out to play with them, leaving only one alive in the end.
As he materialized at his destination, he glanced to the side and saw the unconscious prisoner still held in his grasp. The red armor and distinctive helmet shimmered in the light of Belsavis. Looking away, he dragged the man behind him as he made his way deeper into the catacombs. Belsavis was a fascinating world, perhaps the most fascinating he'd ever visited. The planet had been used by the rakata as a prison for their enemies, and now served as a storehouse of secrets from the mundane to the galaxy-shaping.
Powerful entities slept in this place.
Old power lay dormant.
Labyrinths that stretched over and under Belsavis – putting the tombs of Korriban to shame with their size and complexity. To his knowledge, no one had been able to map the prisons fully. When one reached the end, they would find forking paths and countless more secrets.
Secrets that the Sphere of the Living Force was rapidly uncovering. Belsavis was the epicenter of the revolution to change the galaxy, a planet long since forgotten by the outside.
But it would be remembered. All in due time. When the cleansing hand of the Ascendant Lord burned out the deadwood of this rotten galaxy… then they would remember.
He found Councilor Saresh Palavola in the communications room dressed in her robes and with her hands clasped behind her back. He marveled at the woman as he so often did in her presence – a simple task given how stifling her power was. It brought to the fore early memories of his time in the Sphere of the Living Force. Before and after the revelation… that the rakata were alive. Or at least their minds were.
Thousands upon thousands of rakatan mastabas – or 'mind prisons' as they were known to the ignorant, though in fairness, most mastabas had been used for that purpose – were stored on Belsavis, each pyramid containing the consciousness of an ancient being. And every member of the Sphere of the Living Force was offered the chance to partner with one of these rakata, to share their body as the aliens shared their knowledge.
Palavola hosted an ancient being named 'Vorivalis.' The various mastabas the Sphere kept hidden in the vaults? Each contained a rakata loyal to him. Myuomi herself had been one of his most-trusted sub-commanders, and thus, when Txon partnered with her, he became an Extension of the Will.
The galaxy was at a tipping point and only the steady hand of Ascendant Lord Vorivalis could maintain stability once the Elder One returned to prune the rot that festered between the stars.
Abandoning his remembrances, Txon looked upon Palavola with new eyes. She was deep in talks – in Rakatan – with a very naked man who immediately noticed Txon and waved him over.
"Txon, my boy, how long has it been? You never return my calls…" Xabiar pouted, shifting seamlessly to Galactic Basic.
"The last time I opened an email from you, you filled my hard drive with so much smut I was investigated by the Sphere of Law and Justice." Txon sighed. "And would it kill you to put on some clothes?"
"Bah, nobody can take a joke these days," he said, ignoring the question.
"I'm still not allowed near elementary schools because of you!"
Xabiar tittered at the Jedi's exasperation. "Now, now, Txon. No need to get off on the wrong foot when you can get off on the right – that foot is a total slut. Besides, why would you wanna spend so much time at an elementary school in the first place? That seems awfully sus…"
Txon grumbled but remained silent, annoyed at Xabiar's glib manner and Myuomi's audible amusement.
Saresh spoke up with her collected – almost droll – tone, causing the hair on the back of Txon's neck to stand on end as it did whenever her true power was felt, "I contacted Xabiar once I was alerted to your arrival, Txon. We three have much to discuss." She paused and glanced at the body Txon had drug in behind him. "What is that?"
"A Defiler, Councilor. The Consortium was attempting to research the teleporter and we… dissuaded them."
She appraised the Defiler, a taloned finger to her lips. "They did not damage the infrastructure much, if you still came."
"No, their operation was sophisticated. They likely barely touched the equipment."
"Expected from a Consortium operation, but not acceptable for them to interfere," she said, "I will have others liquidate any survivors and install defenses. It appears we cannot rely on obfuscation to shield our assets. The Consortium will know someone is using it, but that outcome is now inevitable. As for him, we can toss him in one of the cells and learn what we must later."
Another Jedi approached and lifted the Defiler's body with the Force before moving it to a waiting cell in the other room.
"Do be gentle with him," Xabiar said with faux empathy, "That poor boy went through a lot to become a Defiler."
"Come now, Xabiar," Palavola intoned, true amusement in her eyes, "I scorn to do anyone a mischief when it not for my advantage."
"Ha! Hahahahaha! By the Elder One, you know just what to say to stiffen my… resolve."
Txon cringed, averting his eyes and focusing on Councilor Palavola's disturbing smile. Just what was her relationship to this madman? They worked together in service to the plan, but was there more to it?
"Councilor, if I may," Txon began, "why did you summon me? A holo-call would suffice for most things."
"I'm curious as well, Sesh. I was in the middle of a very important livecast."
Palavola glanced at them both. "Daniel Skywalker has resigned from the High Council."
The news hit him in a single blow, he didn't quite register her statement at first, simply staring blankly. Resign? Daniel Skywalker? That made no immediate sense. He voiced that in a dull tone. "He… resigned? Why?"
"Purportedly? Because he can no longer support the corruption and direction the Order is moving," she said, "I believe him. However, I suspect there is more to it."
Xabiar's smile was cheshire. "How delightful. I didn't expect the ol' boy to flip the script so abruptly. And without anyone the wiser."
"I believe Ritten knew it was coming, perhaps Pon Tiian as well. No one else." Palavola's lips were set in a frown. "Undien was surprised. As was I, to be honest. I have my suspicions as to what prompted him to do so now."
Txon waited, and Palavola continued. "He has come to the same conclusion we have: the Order is headed for a schism, one worse than any in the past ten millennia. I do not know if he intends to consolidate support, attempt to stave it off, or execute another plan – but I suspect he knows the direction the Order is headed, and is positioning himself to heal it."
"What an interesting position he's put himself in. Hugely popular and no longer bound by his office? He will be a formidable voice in the coming schism."
"Yes, which makes me wonder what he knows," Palavola mused, "Skywalker is not one to make rash decisions."
A thought occurred to Txon. "Could this be related to his quest? It only ended a few months ago."
"Perhaps, he never explained what he learned or saw," Palavola said, "At the same time, one needs no quest to see the Order's crumbling foundations. The partisan schism between Orthodox and mainstream thought will worsen. Undien is almost certain to be confirmed."
"A vote is scheduled soon, I presume?"
"There will be, after the seats are filled."
"Seats?"
"Ah, yes. Master Tiian also resigned. Combined with Master Najor's impending term expiration, there will be two seats to fill."
"Which translates to three for Undien," Txon grunted, "There will be no credible opposition?"
"Shartan will likely attempt to garner support." Palavola waved a dismissive hand. "Mateil is his only staunch ally. The others are for Undien or neutral. Undien will appoint two allies, and they will be confirmed. It is assured. I expect Ritten and perhaps Yaden to abstain. This presumes Shartan puts his name forward at all. He may consider it a stronger condemnation if he abstains from confirming Undien."
Xabiar raised an eyebrow. "And you, Sesh?"
"I will abstain as well, there is little to gain by legitimizing Undien," she said flatly, "It will worry him, and exacerbate his paranoia. Ultimately, Undien is a catalyst. He will attempt to perpetuate Orthodoxy in the Order, and deepen the polarization. He has a fundamental misunderstanding of the dynamics of the Order, and is too reliant on political allies to save him." Her tone turned dismissive, "Half of them will abandon him for Shartan should the worst come to pass, and the others will find themselves powerless. Fat men in robes have little power when confronted with strength."
"To say nothing of the vipers hidden in the Order. Even if he were to maintain the façade of legitimacy, that will crumble once Dal is exposed as a Sith." Xabiar chuckled oddly.
Palavola smiled. "The schism will occur. Undien's coalition will fracture. Shartan will make his move. The Sith will be exposed, rooted out, and purged. This is not a catastrophic turn of events, Skywalker leaving the Council was expected at some point, but he is an unknown variable. Shartan is closer to our interests. Skywalker is less malleable."
"An enemy?" Txon frowned.
"Not necessarily," Palavola said slowly, "but his agenda is not ours. His vision is not ours. It may bring our goals into conflict, which could prove problematic if his objective is misunderstood. I will be focusing on rectifying this."
"Oh, Sesh," Xabiar began in a warm and loving tone, "my precious saava blossom, you brighten my day like no other! To think I was worried things were growing dull… and now this! What a wondrous birthday present."
"It's not your birthday."
"Nonsense. Every day is a new day, seen with new eyes." Xabiar spread his arms wide and smiled and for a moment, his nudity was forgotten. "Thank you for telling me this, Sesh. I'll be in touch."
The holoprojector spun down and shut off. Palavola was silent for a moment before turning and appraising Txon. "The Order is primed for a tumultuous period. The Mandalorians and Alliance may soon come into conflict. It would be prudent to prepare yourself to act if needed."
Txon paused. "Do you mean I should be prepared to rejoin you?"
"Originally, that was the intention, however, the Sith Taral should not be left unattended," Palavola said, "Dispatch the Sith and bring him to Belsavis should the contingency arise. Lestin and Kerrn are unlikely to be relevant by that point."
Txon hesitated. "That may prove… problematic."
Palavola raised an eyebrow. "The Sith will pose you trouble?"
"Potentially," Txon stressed, "As it stands… he can be defeated without issue. However, there is something… odd about him. At most, I can reliably attain his surface-level thoughts. He is remarkably resistant to deeper penetration, even unconscious. There is… something there. Something more that I have not seen. I do not even know if he is aware of it."
Palavola was silent for a moment. "A spirit?"
"There are similar indicators, but… I do not think so. If he was possessed, or influenced by a spirit, I would know by now."
"Curious." Palavola went silent again. "Be still, Txon. He wishes to see for himself."
Txon nodded his understanding. Palavola's eyes rolled up, as microseizures briefly seized her body. Txon had only experienced the transition from Palavola to the Ascendant Lord a few times – yet it was remarkable how easily he could tell the difference between who was in control. The eyes of Palavola's body went hard and cold, her body stood stiffly, tense as if ready to pounce.
Her presence itself changed.
To something… old.
Palavola's body moved closer and placed two fingers on his forehead as an alien mind reached inside. Even had he not permitted this, it was unlikely he could have stopped it. The mind was so vastly alien and uncomfortable that he recoiled at its touch. It was the mind of something which should be dead, of ancient power returned.
His mind went cold as the alien slipped inside, seizing on his memories; his feelings and impressions of the Sith. After only minutes, but what seemed like hours, it withdrew and his mind was his own again. ＜＜I would speak to Myuomi, Jedi Oro.＞＞
The command in flawless Rakatan was said with Palavola's voice but was also different, flatter and deeper – an alien voice coming out of an alien mind. Txon did not think to question. "Yes, Lord Vorivalis."
A switch, and Myuomi was back in control
Good luck.
Myuomi quickly fell to one knee. ＜＜What is it you request, my Lord?＞＞
＜＜Stand, Predor of the Infinite,＞＞ Vorivalis commanded, and Myuomi did so, almost giddy with the honor of standing before the Ascendant Lord himself – in a body not his own, but it was undeniably him. His presence and mind could not be replicated. ＜＜You have paid attention to the discussions of the Jedi?＞＞
＜＜I have.＞＞
＜＜We will soon achieve control of the Jedi Order, the details are for Councilor Palavola to determine, but there can be no question that it is primed to fall,＞＞ Vorivalis stated, ＜＜Once control is seized, we will continue with the next phase. One that will be implemented when the Sith are eradicated.＞＞
＜＜When do we strike at the Sith?＞＞
＜＜When the time is right. Too early and the Jedi will unify. Too late and plans will be accelerated.＞＞ A hand waved. ＜＜The days long-awaited are approaching, when we march upon the galaxy once again, in untainted bodies. The World Engines prepare to fire, and the chambers grow our vessels. More minds join with Jedi counterparts every day. What has been put in motion cannot be stopped now – only delayed.＞＞
Myuomi shivered in anticipation. ＜＜A day I look forward to. When this galaxy is brought to order.＞＞
＜＜Order after the rot has been purged,＞＞ Vorivalis stated, the words rumbling in her ears and mind, ＜＜And there is much rot in this galaxy. First it will be pruned from the Jedi. Then the Alliance. Then the rest as we see fit.＞＞ There was a pause. ＜＜Watch this Sith closely. If he becomes a threat, do not hesitate. Kill him.＞＞
What?
Do not distract me, Txon!
＜＜Kill him, my Lord?＞＞
＜＜If you are on your own, and must leave, yes,＞＞ Vorivalis repeated.
＜＜Do you… know what he is?＞＞
There was a long pause. ＜＜Enough to realize what he could become. A threat that will be smothered before it can become one. Is that understood?＞＞
Myuomi bowed her head. ＜＜Yes, Lord Vorivalis.＞＞
She knew that Txon was not exactly on board, but if this was a command from Vorivalis directly… there was no higher command, even superseding that of his vessel. Rare was it that two conflicting orders were given, but there was no debate on which to follow.
＜＜Good,＞＞ Vorivalis said, the eyes that somehow remained alien stared into her own, ＜＜We have been patient for millennia. Be proud, for soon, we will make our mark on the galaxy once more. Even millennia crumbles under the Infinite. Go well, and protect your Jedi.＞＞
Both Jedi were suddenly frozen still as their minds returned to their bodies. Palavola briefly rubbed her eyes.
Txon spoke first, "He knew what it was."
"As he said, he did not know, but suspects," Palavola answered slowly, "However… the command is clear. It is best his command becomes the contingency. I will investigate this. Take care around Taral, little can convince Vorivalis to issue such a command. This Sith is clearly more of an issue than I presumed."
"Yes, Councilor," Txon confirmed.
"You may go," Palavola said, "You do not want your group becoming suspicious. We will speak again shortly – be prepared to act."
"A question," Txon said, "Is news of Skywalker's resignation public? Numa and Kerrn will want to know."
"Not public, not yet," Palavola said, "I expect it will be in the coming days. Share the news with the Jedi if you wish, it will matter little on Nar Shaddaa, and Skywalker may preempt any planned announcements."
"Understood, Councilor."
"We are close to the end," there was an odd note in her voice, "Let us ensure it proceeds as expected."
A little girl hid beneath a tree on the edge of the forest. The berry bushes on either side created a secret spot for her within the horseshoe-shaped brambles – neither the other students nor the wild nexu could find her – the kitten in her lap notwithstanding, but Pawpatine was a good kitty who loved her, so there. She scrolled through her datapad – fingers lovingly sliding across the scratched casing as she read its forbidden words. She treasured those words and guarded them like a jealous mother hen. She lost herself in the language even as the anxiety of the forbidden tickled the edge of her perception.
She liked it here. She was safe here.
She hated class. Hated being around others. They whispered behind her back and no one wanted to be her friends, they wouldn't even approach her. A couple bullies did in the beginning, but… well, the burnt hand teaches best. But what truly isolated her was their fear, and her own. She was terrified of hurting others… at least unintentionally. If she truly feared causing pain, she'd be the worst Sith of all time.
She had fallen asleep in class last month. No big deal, children often did and often awoke from a crack to the head from Master Chikchik. But Mischa was different, and had been for as long as she could remember. Her dreams influenced others. They fell prey to visions as she slept. It was why mama made her wear that collar to bed, because even the Dark Lady of the Sith could fall prey to such power. A classmate had died, and Mischa was saddened by that… she would have much preferred killing the girl on purpose.
＜＜You should be studying, Mischa,＞＞ squeaked a voice above.
Mischa yipped and quickly hid the datapad behind her back – Pawpatine scampered off into the brush with haste – her frantic amber eyes rising to the canopy above. A shimmer of light and her teacher revealed herself. The chadra-fan hung upside-down from her clawed feet. The girl cursed her inattention, but knew she never would have noticed even if she had tried – Master Chikchik was very skilled with Force invisibility.
"I… I just needed a break, teacher. I was just looking over some history texts. Honest," the girl ground out, the lie obvious in her breath as she compulsively stroked one of her unplaited pigtails.
Chikchik narrowed her eyes and dropped down from the branch, landing before the girl with a flourish. The girl's ruby skin pinkened slightly in fear – it dissolved into resignation as the chadra-fan motioned for the datapad. Mischa was reluctant, but she still handed it over.
Master Chikchik activated the device and noted with distaste what the girl had been reading: a young adult mystery novella. She sighed. ＜＜Mischa, you know you aren't supposed to be reading this during school.＞＞
"But we're on break!" she objected.
＜＜Then you should be using that time to study or train. You're strong, Mischa, but you're unfocused. You are our Lady's daughter, and you're at the bottom of the class.＞＞
"I know…" she said dejectedly.
＜＜You must try harder, Mischa. Lady Vathila does not tolerate failure. To have her daughter perform so poorly? It is profoundly embarrassing.＞＞
"I know, I know, but…" Mischa broke off, clenching her eyes tightly to keep from crying in front of her Master. "I wanna make mama proud but… I just…"
The chadra-fan sighed once more before handing the datapad back to the girl and taking a seat in the dirt. ＜＜Mischa, I have watched you for years. You have such potential. You know that. How many bullies have found that out the hard way when they made you mad?＞＞
Mischa curled up into herself and looked away. "Too many…"
＜＜If I had my druthers, I would focus only on you. The problem is my attention is split between all my students. And I'm still not sure where your aptitudes are best placed,＞＞ Master Chikchik said, scratching her furry chin, ＜＜I had hoped for your skills to reveal themselves, but… the longer this continues, the more problematic it becomes.＞＞
"I don't want mama to be upset…"
＜＜Then we need to work together, Mischa, to discover the secret to accessing your power. It's right there in front of you, but something is blocking it. Motivation? Concentration? We need to find the answer. That said, it may be best to bring Lady Timoris into the equation.＞＞
The girl groaned. "I don't like her. She's scary."
Her teacher was amused and let out several high-pitched chirps. ＜＜You're not the only one who thinks so, but she really has a knack for placing people. All you need is the strength to spend ten minutes alone with her. Do you think you can do that, Mischa? Can you be strong?＞＞
The girl sniffled before nodding after a time.
＜＜Good, good,＞＞ Master Chikchik said with a smile before nodding at the datapad, ＜＜I will overlook this small lapse on your part, this time. I suggest you plan out your excuses beforehand so you can lie better when you are caught.＞＞
"Yes, teacher."
＜＜Good girl. Now come, midday break is over, history class awaits.＞＞
Again, the girl grumbled as she stumbled to her feet.
＜＜Come now, you don't want to hear of Vodel Kressh's rebellion?＞＞
The girl scowled. "He died at the end of it and nothing happened."
＜＜Exactly! Rebellious souls will always fail in the face of strength. It is an important lesson for all Sith. Now come, child.＞＞
The diminutive pair left the forest, with Mischa keeping pace behind her teacher. She felt… she wasn't sure. She knew she wasn't happy. In fact, she was only happy when she could lose herself inside a fantastic tale or while playing with Pawpatine. She wished her father was still alive, he would have made her happy… maybe. In truth, he'd been dead since she was a toddler, so maybe he would have been a terrible father. She suppressed the thought. Better to imagine he would have loved her.
She took a breath as they entered the building and went to the classroom. She took her seat in an isolated corner and pulled out her datapad, careful to fill it with notes and not doodles this time.
Clens'ige'lerkrr stared at the tower of blocks, deciding which one to remove and replace on top. She chose one near the middle, the slightest nudge of the Force keeping the tower from collapsing at the motion.
"You cheated," her opponent huffed.
Sigel brushed it off. "Lies! Baseless lies… shame on you for lying!" the Jedi Knight admonished as she waggled an accusatory finger.
The little girl's face scrunched up in indignation as she reached to move one of the tower pieces. "I'm not lying; it isn't fair to use your powers—" She stopped midsentence as the tower collapsed… then she turned her angry eyes on the Jedi. "CHEATER!"
Sigel just laughed. It was fun teasing the girl, especially when she could test her abilities. Morrigan Onasi might have a promising future as a Jedi, or any number of things really. The Force smiled on those who felt it, even when they were not trained. The best sharpshooters and pilots in the galaxy? Force-sensitives. Even low-tier abilities would give someone an edge.
They'd been playing for twenty minutes like this, waiting for the girl's father to come and pick her up from school. It would give Sigel an opportunity to speak with him about enrolling the girl into the Order as a youngling or Padawan. Normally, a Jedi from the Sphere of Recruitment and Training would handle this, but she'd done some recruiting in the past and apparently Councilor Undien remembered, because he asked her to go to Coruscani Elementary.
She was surprised the girl hadn't been found already, she stood out in the Force like a flare in the dark. She glanced to the side and noted a human man and a twi'lek woman approaching their table. An anxious pang flashed through her gut. She recognized the man and now knew why the name 'Onasi' seemed so familiar. She tamped down the feeling and kept a cool smile on her lips.
So that's why they sent me, she thought sourly.
The young girl lit up when she saw them, running into the man's arms. "Daddy, daddy! She's a Jedi!"
"I see that, sweetie. You shouldn't be talking to strangers," her father admonished.
"But—"
"No 'buts,' " he interrupted.
The girl grumbled and looked to the rutian twi'lek for support, but found none. Instead, she looked back at the Jedi with forlorn eyes and an exaggerated – though sincere – pout.
Sigel recognized the man from his recent clash with Councilor Undien at a press conference.
He was Telan Onasi, investigative journalist for Channel 94 HoloNet News and noted enemy of her boss, apparently. His adoptive father, Senator Vao'Onasi, was a financial donor of the channel and a regular guest when new legislation was enacted.
As for the twi'lek woman… she wasn't sure. Was she his lover? His sister? That one made more sense. Senator Vao'Onasi was a rutian twi'lek and so were his children if she remembered correctly.
"Cute kid," Sigel said, eying the twi'lek's hands, one of which rested on her hidden Mandalorian T9 heavy blaster.
"…She is," the woman finally answered, "Why are you here, Jedi?"
"Just surveying the local talent." She gestured at the pockets of children sitting around outside their school waiting for their parents. "She's strong in the Force; the Order is always looking for new Padawans."
"Did you hear that, Aunt Nae? I'm gonna be a Jedi!" the child squealed in oblivious delight.
"That's actually what I wanted to discuss with you," Sigel said in a pleasant tone, "I wanted to meet her parents and discuss the possibility of enrolling her into one of the academies."
"Daddy, daddy, I—"
"Quiet, Morrigan."
"But, da—"
"I said quiet!" he commanded, "My daughter will not join your Order at this time, Jedi."
Sigel suppressed a grimace; it was the answer she expected. "I can understand your hesitation, Mr. Onasi, but I think it is worth considering. Someone of her ability could be a danger to the public without proper training."
"My daughter is a threat to no one and she is right where she belongs… with her family."
Sigel's smile never faltered. "Forgive me, I meant no offense. It's rare but not unheard of for the untrained to lose control. Strong emotions can manifest in unpleasant ways – I can't tell you how many kids come in after sending a bully to the hospital." She began putting away the plastic blocks with the Force. "I wish you fair travels, Telan Onasi. And I hope you'll consider enrolling her in the future."
They barely acknowledged her, instead snatching up the girl's school bag and making a beeline to the spaceport.
Sigel watched them leave. Her well-practiced smile falling to a more authentic expression of discomfit. She checked her surroundings, and finding that everything was put away, she left for her apartment. It took no more than ten minutes to reach the door. Once it closed behind her, she rushed to the restroom.
The walls echoed with a disgusting retch. Sigel coughed a few times before spitting the last of the bile from her lips. She felt disgusting. Dirty. Some reporter grills Undien at a press conference and now I'm a prop to threaten the poor bastard's daughter?
She slid down against the wall, listening as the toilet cleared automatically – a few spritz of water splashed on her legs. She grimaced before closing her eyes and leaning her head back into the wall. She needed a shower – water, not sonic. Maybe a hot bath instead?
This wasn't the way of the Jedi.
Calling out to her apartment's VI, she ordered the tub filled and a glass of Naiana prepared. Tugging off her robes as the water filled the basin, she caught herself in the mirror and looked at her body from this angle and that. Her blue skin was sallow and her bright red eyes were dimmed and framed by indigo bags.
She looked sick.
She stared for a time until a ding alerted her the tub was full. Tearing her eyes away with a scowl, she stepped into the scalding water and sank with a relieved sigh – fragrant salts seeping into her pores as the scent tickled her nose. She smiled and opened dreamy eyes, reaching for her wine. She swirled the fruity, crimson liquid in her hand. The soapy bubbles from her fingers transferring to the glass – popping and dripping.
She tapped an icon on the edge of the tub and watched as the wall before her lit up. The screen showed a pair of decorators walking a couple through their newly renovated condominium. It was amazing how far a credit could stretch in the hands of a professional. She noted the burgundy hardwoods that had been added to the rooms and glanced about her own surroundings with a frown – it looked barely lived in.
Maybe some wooden display bowls and small plants? Though I always kill them with neglect…
Her mind might have gone on a décor tangent if a glowing gold icon in the top corner of the screen – accompanied by a soft chime – hadn't drawn her attention. It meant there was breaking news that corresponded to her algorithmic preferences.
"VI, open alert," she called.
The familiar show disappeared, replaced by a news anchor in a sharp suit. "We are following this story as the situation develops…"
Sigel couldn't hear them anymore, not after reading the bold red text beneath their desk.
Grand Master Daniel Skywalker steps down from Jedi High Council.
She gaped at the screen long enough for the water to cool, triggering the tub to begin radiating heat to rewarm it. The warmth pulled her back to reality and allowed her to focus on the words of the anchors and their guest experts.
"…unprecedented situation. A Skywalker is always on the Council, and they've never stepped down like this before. The closest time was under Luke Skywalker, and that was an extenuating circumstance."
"What does this mean for the Jedi Council or the Alliance? The Jedi Grand Master – regardless of who they are – is a Triumvir."
"It will certainly change things. Skywalker was a moderate voice, and there's every expectation that Councilor Undien will replace him. Given Undien's political actions and positions, we can expect major changes in the way the Order conducts itself and interacts with the Triumvirate."
"Master Undien has been a staunch advocate for Alliance causes. Surely a more supportive Grand Master would be beneficial in the long-term."
"Perhaps, but it is important to remember how destabilizing such a change can be. Councilor Undien has been outspoken in his criticism of the Mandalorians and their leader, Javen'Panlie. In fact, he's been down right bellicose at times. Given the potential power of the Jedi Order, any shift in foreign policy should be viewed with healthy wariness—"
Sigel turned off the screen and sank into the water once more. Her thoughts were jumbled and tired. Looks like I was right, Master Ikotla… something was happening in the Order. I just never thought…
If the pundits were right about Councilor Undien, things were only going to ramp up from there. What fresh hell was in her future, she wondered. If she was tricked into harassing journalists today, what might she be ordered to do in the future?
She finished her wine and made a mental note to spend some time in the training dojos. They weren't wrong about Undien pushing against the Mandos – in fact, it was at that very press conference where he denounced Javen'Panlie that Telan Onasi made her boss look like a fool in front of the entire galaxy.
Every word scrutinized.
Every lie exposed.
She drained the bath and toweled herself off – eschewing the air jets in favor of velvety softness. She looked at herself once more in the mirror and decided to turn in for the night, worried she might need a sleep aid to calm her nerves.
Alana Skywalker paced back-and-forth in her room aboard the Mandalore's Honor. They'd left Dxun and were en route to Nar Shaddaa, but at the moment, nothing was further from her mind. Instead, she stared at the news feeds in disbelief. Every single one carried the same story. It wasn't every day one of the three most powerful people in the galaxy quit their job out of the blue. Was there any hint of this? She racked her brain but found nothing. Aside from his alliance with the Sith Taral, there wasn't a single hint of anything out of the ordinary.
Maybe it was his quest…? she wondered silently before narrowing her eyes at the holocommunicator in frustrated impatience, Pick up, damn you.
The call connected and the projector spun up and glowed softly, the image resolving itself into former Grand Master Daniel Skywalker. He wore the same gray robes he was known for. His ever-present cane maintained his balance as he leaned forward on it with both hands. His smile was gentle but his eyes were tired. There was a tension in his posture, she chalked it up to the unexpected call.
Alana tried to tamp down her emotions which were still raw from Dxun – even weeks later. "Why?"
It was the first thing she'd said to him since he and the others were deported. It was curt and without preamble. The fact that she said it without hate did little to stop the ghost of a grimace from gracing his lips.
"Should I assume you've been watching… well, any HoloNet newsfeed right now?"
"I'm confused, grandfather. Very confused. Between this and you helping that Sith escape… I'm at a loss." She shook her head and sighed. "Help me understand."
"There are things that are happening. Things that I couldn't be fully honest with you about – still can't be honest about, honestly," he said with a light chuckle, though the humor was muted, "Just know that I love you, and everything that I'm doing is for the betterment of the galaxy."
"Did I ever know you?"
He looked stricken by the question and she suppressed her impulse to apologize. "I think you knew me as your grandfather, but that is only part of who I was. But I think you had a good idea who I was before I made the trip to Dagobah. I received visions, Alana. I saw things, terrible things. It's changed everything. We all have a part to play. Myself, you, the Sith… every single one of us. And I am doing my best to ensure that we survive this. If I were to stand idle, what tragedy might my inaction cause? What would I be responsible for? I know answers to some of these questions, not full answers, but ones that have convinced me inaction is impossible. Apathy is death."
"How do you know any of what you've seen will even happen? For Force sake, grandfather, you're working with a Sith."
He smirked at the accusation and she wondered if there was some inside joke she was missing. "I am aware of who I am working with, more than you know. We are not operating blind, Alana. We've confirmed what we could, and made numerous allies in this quest – several of questionable nature."
"Who is 'we'?"
"Lara, Yaden, some others. I'm not in this alone, but this is not something that can be shared with the public. I regret not being able to bring you into our confidence, Alana, but you previously answered to Shartan and Undien, and they most certainly are not in my trusted circle."
"And now that that is no longer the case?"
"Your destiny is with the Mandalorians, and I wish you happiness on your path." There was a pause. "The visions sometimes involve the Union, but only tangentially. There is little reason to bring Javen and his people into this – especially when honor demands he oppose certain assets."
"Taral."
"Quite so. The boy is important, though the specifics elude me at the moment."
"I never took you for a gambler, grandfather."
"I do not gamble, Alana, I make grounded judgments," he said with good humor, "Fate has forced me into an uncomfortable position, but I will not shirk my duty. I only hope we can avoid some of the more unpleasant things the Force has shown me. I never meant for any of this to happen the way it did, and I hope one day we can mend our relationship, Alana."
"Me too… Goodbye, grandfather."
"Goodbye, Alana," he said with an affectionate nod, "…and beware of Lega'Las Braton."
She cocked her head and furrowed her brow. "Lega'La—?"
The holocommunicator spun down and he disappeared from sight as he ended the call from his end. She was left with the mystery of his final warning, vague as it was. She was… less anxious at least. There were still questions, but she had a better idea of why he took such actions. It was dangerous to act on premonition sometimes. There could be unforeseen consequences. Still, it helped lessen the sting of his betrayal on Dxun, at least slightly. She hoped it was worth it.
Alana shook her thoughts clear and refocused on the dossier she'd been reading before the newsburst interrupted her. Her opponent in the upcoming talks would be formidable, and she would need to leverage every skill she'd learned as a Jedi Diplomat. Her counterpart, Tuchanka the Hutt, was a vile creature. Greedy and evil, but not stupid. She was thankful there was an official document on the crime lord, she was loath to rewatch that nauseatingly sycophantic fluff-piece on the HoloNet – thankfully there were more critical pieces on the slug, but she still preferred a government dossier to the speculation of public media.
It didn't take long for her to give up on the task and toss the datapad onto the table in disgust. She could barely read past the first paragraph before her thoughts returned to her grandfather. She'd been rattled by his betrayal but did her utmost to suppress it in public – of course, there was no way to hide it from her lifemates. Runi had held her when she cried, fearing what was lost by this one act. Javen helped her search for an explanation, though none was forthcoming. Eventually, she'd become numb to the reality as the weeks passed. Then this happened and all those confused feelings returned.
She was at least hopeful there could be reconciliation one day. Her feelings twisted around branching thoughts that tried to tie Daniel's actions to a larger picture that was so out-of-focus that she was left blind to his goals. His resignation and alliance with Taral were driven by the visions, but what else had been? He'd convinced her to leave the Militant Order shortly after he began his vision quest, did that mean he'd manipulated her? Was he protecting her?
And what of that vague warning about Lega'Las Braton? She knew the clan name, but not much else – though the name was at least vaguely familiar. The more she considered everything, the more her uncertainty swelled. She needed help.
Reaching out with the Force, she touched the minds of her lifemates through their Force bond, 'Javen, Runi, can you two come here? I'm in our room and I need help with something.'
'Is something wrong?' Runi asked, concern in her ephemeral voice.
Alana smiled; her own tone had been discomfited. It was sweet of Runi to worry. 'I just spoke with my grandfather and… I don't know. I guess I just need help understanding everything.'
'Is it urgent?' Runi asked, 'I don't mean to be rude, but my father just arrived and I wanted to visit for a bit.'
'No, no. You go visit and we can talk later,' Alana said.
'Hmph,' Runi huffed, 'I can feel your disappointment, ner copad. Javen, ner cyare, can you help her out?'
'I'm already on my way,' he said, 'I just got off the holo with Lunae. She extricated Telan and his family. They're en route to Onderon.'
'Did you talk to him?' Runi asked, her smile felt through their link.
Javen's sheepishness also came through the bond. '…I did not.'
Alana smirked. 'My word. Is Mand'alor the Redeemer actually embarrassed?'
'I asked you not to call me by my sobriquet, ner riduurok, it's weird. As for Telan… I'm not sure how to feel, honestly,' he admitted, 'He is my brother. His daughter Morrigan is my niece. It's strange to have family I never knew. Stranger still that they aren't Mandalorian.'
'You're not gonna avoid him forever, I hope.'
'No, I won't… but I'd rather meet him in-person.'
'Fair enough.'
The three minds disengaged from the conversation, though Runi made sure to send waves of comfort and reassurance through the bond to Alana – something she appreciated. She stood up and stretched her back, listening to the popping vertebrae as she waited. It wasn't long before she felt Javen nearing the room. Once he was through the door, she tackled him in a loving embrace.
He chuckled into the kiss as he held her close. "Feeling better, are we?"
Alana sighed as she disentangled herself from him. "A bit, but not much."
Alana explained her conversation with Daniel – short though it was. Javen listened attentively, nodding his head in understanding at the context of Daniel's actions. He still disagreed with them – vehemently – but he could at least grasp the idea of working with a Sith under such circumstances. It was the parting warning though that gave him pause.
"Lega'Las is the Aliit'alor of Clan Braton and currently commands the 7th Attack Division tasked with securing Rakata Prime and the surrounding system. Daniel shouldn't know who he is – even with his connections to the Sphere of Vigilance and Farsight. And even if he did, there's nothing to suggest Las is a threat to you. He is fully loyal to the Union and has been for decades."
"Is there any possibility – no matter how small – that Lega'Las could support Tlon Fett?"
"No. None. He's personally been involved in three counterstrikes against Fett which crippled the network he was building in the Sovereign Systems. I cannot, for the life of me, even conceive of the man turning traitor. I would dismiss it altogether except Daniel shouldn't even know who he is."
Alana pursed her lips and was silent for a time. "I was shocked by my grandfather's actions, but… I do know there was a change in him after he started his journey. He pushed me to leave the Militant Order. He spent more and more time speaking to the President and the Imperial Sovereigns. I believe he saw something in his visions, and I think Lega'Las Braton was involved."
Javen nodded his head and leaned back on one foot. "The Force can be fickle, but it is foolish to ignore its warnings. Aliit'alor Las has done nothing to warrant our suspicion, but that laxity may be a failing on our end. We can open an investigation on him – quietly."
Javen activated his comlink and summoned others to the room for a debrief. One by one they came. Runi'BeTracyn Fett and her father, Clan Leader Gustav Fett arrived – the older man approaching and embracing Alana for the first time since she and Runi became attached. Admiral Jagi'Panlie, Leader of Clan Ordo arrived with a crisp, military posture and was followed by Master Tokare Venra on his hoverchair.
With everyone gathered, Javen activated a sound-dampening field for added privacy – despite this being his flagship, he trusted no one else with what he was about to say. He nodded to everyone and began without preamble, "We've received a warning about Aliit'alor Lega'Las Braton. The warning was vague, nothing more than 'do not trust him,' but I think it is worth a review of the man if nothing else."
Gustav scratched his beard. "I've known Lega for decades, Javen. I trust him with my life. Where did you receive the warning from? Is the source reliable?"
Javen glanced at Alana, who stepped in, "It was my grandfather, Grand Master Skywalker— er, ex-Grand Master Skywalker. We were discussing his actions as of late, and as we said our goodbyes, he just blurted out not to trust this man and hung up."
Jagi spoke, "Could Master Skywalker have any reason to cast doubt in this way? I know his words are suspect given his aid to the Darjetii."
Alana bristled at the accusation – naturally – but kept it hidden.
"Should have left that boy on Felucia," Gustav said, shaking his head, "He's brought nothing but trouble."
"I'm inclined to agree, Gustav," Javen said, "but what's done is done. The question is how we respond. The warning was vague and non sequitur, but I'm inclined to believe Master Skywalker would not give such a warning without cause – not least of all because he shouldn't even be aware of Aliit'alor Las."
"What do we know about him?" Alana asked.
"Dossiers exist on all high-level personnel," Master Tokare interjected, glancing toward Admiral Jagi, "When was it last updated?"
Jagi checked his datapad, searching for all the files on Lega'Las Braton. "Three years, and only minor changes made to update actions taken between the five-year reviews. No updates to anything in the past."
"Updated, should it be." Tokare nodded.
"We can make an exception and put it forward for review early. But if he really is a problem, this could tip him off." Jagi scratched his stubble. "I suggest a mass-update of all files and dossiers. We can mask his update amongst the rest. With Tlon sneaking people aboard the Mand'alor'ijatt, we can easily justify any internal reviews."
"Make it so, ba'vodu," Javen ordered, "Keep it quiet regardless, but if people start asking, use the excuse of internal security. Even if we find nothing on Lega'Las, there's every possibility we can flush out more of Tlon's infiltrators."
Jagi put a fist to his chest and bowed slightly. "By your will, Mand'alor."
"I pray you find nothing," Gustav said, "To learn my friend was someone else, someone dangerous… it would not sit well with me."
"Nor I, old friend."
Alana watched them and felt her stomach knot a bit. She felt a little guilty casting aspersions on someone she knew nothing about. All the more so with Gustav Fett being an acquaintance of them. She too hoped they found nothing.
Javen's datapad chimed, drawing his attention away. He tapped the alert and opened the message. Alana and Runi both turned to him with worried expressions, they could sense his apprehension.
"Something troubles you, ner cyare," Runi said.
"I am disquieted. Alor'ad Sugu'Ryn Sornell was dispatched to Nar Shaddaa to find Taral. She lost contact with one of her operatives several days ago." He shook his head. "A package was left at one of the safehouses. It contained the flayed clan markings of Ver'alor Thipa of Clan Itera, along with this note."
He handed the padd, casting the image to the room's holoprojector. Alana marveled at the image for a moment. It was paper, real paper, made from trees – something high-class businesses in the Alliance would use as a subtle brag. But what really drew her attention were the words written upon it. They were written in Mando'a – the pen strokes casual and natural, the harsh angles of the language arrogant and proud.
Vaabir kaysh urmankalar gar?
Her eyes narrowed and she grimaced as she read the note. 'Did he trust you?'
Gustav looked at it and hummed thoughtfully. "Look at the penmanship, like he writes Mando'a all the time."
"Given his history with your brother, it's possible one of the Banished took him as a slave," Javen offered.
Gustav shrugged. "Maybe. I regret not meeting him before he fled."
The group was quiet – other than Jagi who typed away on his datapad, sending requests for dossier updates and top-down security reviews. Alana sat down on the couch – the others following suit and finding their own seats.
Master Tokare cleared his throat. "Our relations with the Jedi, we should discuss. Daniel's actions, and your response, have left us without the Order's support."
"I would argue the Order never supported us, only Daniel. As much as I hate to lose him, I cannot ignore his actions. Taral murdered our people."
"Understand this, I do. But we must address the situation before us. Some on the Jedi Council openly discuss invasion to seize the artifacts we protect. Should Undien – or worse, Shartan – replace Daniel, these discussions will become actions."
"If the Jedi come to us, they will be refused. If they attack us, we will defend ourselves. I hope it does not come to that, but we will be prepared regardless. Ibic'te'aka."
"Either way we could be looking at war with the Alliance, Javen," Alana said, "President Oslam can't stop that if the momentum continues building."
"Which risks the Empire getting involved, and they're right on our border," Runi chimed.
Both Jagi and Gustav shook their heads at this, the latter explaining, "It's doubtful the Imperium will come to their aid. They have nothing to gain and without a mutual external threat, they have little reason to join an offensive war against a…" he drifted off and chuckled a bit, " 'much weaker regional state of limited importance.' They don't see us as a threat, and we want to keep it that way."
"Are we a threat, though?" Alana questioned, "I understand we have a strong fleet and army, and dozens of worlds if we include the Sovereign Systems, but the Alliance is legion."
Javen smiled. "True. Equally true, we have something to even the odds a bit. Something no one else knows about… except Xabiar apparently." He scowled at the last part. "He might have been talking about something else, but I think he's referencing the 'Cuy'val Dar Mesen'e.' "
Alana arched a brow at the title which translated to 'ghost fleet.' "What is it, exactly?"
Javen took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly before looking at Jagi and nodding his head once.
The Admiral spoke up, "It is our most closely-guarded secret. Are you familiar with the Diaspora?"
"A bit. The Empire attacked the clans and the survivors scattered to the Outer Rim."
"More or less. They never breached core Mando'Tra, but those on the periphery were forced to flee. There was a group amongst them – no one clan, but a mix of survivors – who found a collection of derelict ships in the dark space between the stars. Thousands of ships arrayed in a grid. They brought the coordinates for this fleet back to Mando'Tra and offered it to the Mand'alor of the time, Boba Fett."
Alana furrowed her brow. "I don't understand. He was Mand'alor during three galactic wars. Why wouldn't he use them?" She winced internally at her highly-accented Mando'a.
"Several reasons. The most pertinent being twofold: one, resources were stretched thin even in times of peace, plus the clans were not united as they are now, and two, no one could enter or activate them."
"What about bringing the New Republic into it?" she asked, "Surely they had the resources to help."
Javen spoke, shaking his head, "There was no real love between the Core and our people. We had every expectation that they may try to annex us one day, and we might need a way to defend ourselves." He grimaced. "There were also… internal debates. Some wanted to use these ships to bring the galaxy to heel under Mando domination."
"Is the fleet that powerful?"
"The designs are quite advanced, even by our current standards. So, fighting the New Republic wasn't out of the realm of possibility." Javen pursed his lips. "The discovery of the fleet was one of the driving forces behind Boba Fett's push to unify the clans – that we might have the resources and organization needed to claim the ships."
Runi spoke, "Without that fleet, there may not be a Mandalorian Union today."
"Hmm," Alana hummed, tapping her lip and thinking, "That's what Tlon Fett really wants, isn't it? It's not just the title of Mand'alor."
"Most likely," Gustav said, "My brother wants to reshape our people into a conquering force once more. The fleet would make that possible. As strong as our forces are, we wouldn't stand a chance against the Alliance or Imperium long-term without those ships."
"Who knows about the fleet?"
"Only those with the highest-level clearance. We keep it hidden for obvious reasons."
"So how did Fett find out? Was he cleared for it before turning traitor?"
Gustav pursed his lips. "The Aliit'alor'e of the six founding clans are kept aware of the fleet, to ensure that it is not forgotten if the Mand'alor is killed and replaced. Our father led Clan Fett, and he told us of the fleet – though only in vague terms. My brother should not be aware of the specifics, he just knows the Mand'alor has a weapon that can destroy entire fleets if Mando'Tra is attacked… unless one of his spies gains access to the information, of course. And actually, if I may segway from there, Mand'alor?" he asked, receiving a nod to continue, "We've received scattered reports of the Gra'tua attacking another Outer Rim world."
Javen leaned back on the couch, Alana could feel exhaustion creeping in. "Which one?"
"Sorgan."
Farmer Aurek surveyed the krill ponds that circled the small village. Each filled to capacity with the cobalt-colored crustaceans that made life possible for him and the others and their collective ancestors. They were briny and delicious – eaten raw or boiled. But once brewed into spotchka, they became the lifeblood of the village. It was their only major export – the dregs that came to this world rarely had interest in their blue-dyed textiles.
Spotchka purchased their safety. When the Cartels moved in to use the world as a depot for their drug operations, they approached the village elders with an offer of protection in exchange for a set amount of spotchka. It wasn't an unreasonable offer – they hadn't even shot anyone! Which was nice.
He stepped into one of the ponds alongside the daughter of Farmer Besh. They both sifted krill from the pond using woven reed baskets. He asked after her father and the two discussed village gossip, such as it was. She told him about Farmer Cresh's son's shy attempts to woo her. Young love was a funny thing. So innocent. He smiled and thought of his own daughter, a mere babe in comparison.
The krill were plentiful this season. A bumper crop would help alleviate the financial woes that plagued their people between harvests. There was talk of purchasing an aftermarket communications relay and a modified TIE fighter wing solar array to power it. They were fairly isolated in this part of the Outer Rim, news traveled slowly.
Just then the villagers froze at the sound of a muffled explosion in the distance. Farmer Cherek noted the direction of the sound came from the Cartel depot. Were they under attack? If they were, would the village be safe?
Farmer Aurek glanced back at the ruined AT-ST walker near the western ponds. There wasn't much left of value after it was destroyed. All that remained was the rusting 'head,' partially buried in the dirt and grass and overgrown with wild vines and flowers. The old pond it fell into had been filled with dirt once they realized the wreck was poisoning the water.
That metal beast had almost destroyed the village centuries ago. Could another come? Could they survive, when they had lived in peace for decades without fear? All they had were hunting rifles decades out-of-date.
There was another muffled explosion, and they could see a column of black smoke rising above the canopy. The whine of thrusters could be heard on the wind, and Farmer Aurek grew fearful… the noise was growing louder.
A/N: Be sure to check out the new SotP prequel fic "SotP Tales - He Who Protects." It follows a Sith Master as they seek to train a new Apprentice and instruct them in the ways and the history of the dark side.
Also, Xabiar created a Discord server for his own XCOM stories and included a channel to discuss "Shadow of the Phoenix" and its related works (such as the various Addenda and SotP Tales). If you would like to join the server and come to the channel to speak directly to us, just use the code NeKH6YF and go to the channel "sotp-discussion."